


honmei

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Pre despair, ummmmm quick white day fic i wrote a month ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: i was deleting older posts off social media and found this so i will toss it on here for safe keeping





	honmei

**Author's Note:**

> i was deleting older posts off social media and found this so i will toss it on here for safe keeping

she's sixteen and four months when she learns she hates dark chocolate.

an inner splint challenges to whether it is the bitter flavor or the bitter acceptance, fingers in their gloss tipped pink that brush to leather (so cliche, she'd have thought were there time) to hand over a delicacy annual, lush.

"happy valentine's!" maizono sayaka had told her with that teenbeat cover smile, though much as time lacking, she finds every second a foxtrot to thumb flick analyzation; the fingers, the smile, the glint through mascaraed blue, and her own strokes of lilac press to tease the gift placed in her hold. standard brown box top with a tie of cream white. she'd nodded, all tight jaw tight shoulders tight lips, and taken stride back toward her dorm.

one month later, she feels she's hardly since left.

"i think it's a good idea," pulls her away from memory, mussed in crunching wafer and candy melted to mouth's roof. lain lax to her bed, naegi swallows, tells further, "she'd be really happy. and, either way, it's rude not to return valentine gifts on white day."

where she's perched leftward at her desk, pen to notebook lines, she does not turn to him, offers mere a length of hair brushed from one shoulder. "that's a man's role."

another crunch falls to his teeth. "yeah," and he laughs the most subtle, "but between you and maizono, i think she might be a little more femini-"

"that explains the gift from togami, then." she hears him choke on the abrupt comment, very nearly tastes his cheekbones' burn. pen to lines, hair over shoulder.

"...anyway," coughs in a fist. he's sat upright, dandelion bedhead and chocolate box now covered at his lap. "maizono might have said it was just giri chocolate- hah, well every chocolate you get would be giri. get it? like kirig-"

"naegi."

"right. well, she might have said it was just as friends, but i think she had...you know, _something_ _else_ in mind."

it crawls betwixt her cerebrum curves the whole walk toward the kitchen and time spent within. because there cannot live the thinnest doubt that naegi makoto's _i think_ translates to a right mind as _maizono told me directly the way she feels, and told me directly what she wants._

(she... _enjoys_ the closest person she has to her at this academy, though there's no denial to his overwhelming density.)

for noon the day of, the madrush last minute, the kitchen is...desolate. she supposes, based upon the male population of her class, that it holds sense. there would perhaps sooner fall the earth's end than catching a kuwata leon or oowada mondo type gifting handmade candies to their love (perhaps more accurate a store bought ring pop or crude text message). just slight could it be that they've all done their part thus far, though kirigiri would rather a relinquishment of justice than accept a status beneath. she straightens, takes a glance around the emptied room. warmed burners admit to another presence a half hour guess pre. a pan drips from where she grasps it off the rack.

kirigiri kyouko has never made chocolate before in her life. never baked never cooked never had the sweet warmth of hands to lift her neath the arms and offer a spoon taste. but all that's her reason for knowing now she's the most capable; independent growth, independent life.

there's chocolate smeared in her bangs and burned to the bottom of cast iron by 1:16 pm. but, so very least, she can call it that, marks it a bare minimum success as she eyes over the dozen milk white squares. as they lay to cool, she rivals it with the heat of her leer. allowance is her mind to roam in unfocus. something else. that has yet to vacate. something else that kirigiri won't dare even herself be the recipient to wanton disclosure.

shin high snow does not stop her from trekking for a single room market off campus. she clacks back twice the hell, sets to placing the sweets into the fresh purchased box, rewraps the ribbon about it three times messy because the shop had been foraged of every last white gift wrapping and she hopes maizono won't think her a fool for matching mauve and mint.

it's in those messy quivers whole next, because it's mint and mauve because naegi is always the persuader because _something else_ , and she walks a metronome stride two doors down to bolt her spine, sweat her temples.

knuckles prod the wood. kirigiri could just about vomit; her expression refuses to waver, never ventures disquietude's twitch as the dark oak gives way to sugar spun sunshine.

"ah, hi, kirigiri," maizono smiles. "what's-?"

the maple sweet pauses to a push forward, and glances hardly can meet for touch. maizono blinks toward the proffered gift.

"...it's rude not to return valentine gifts on white day," says kirigiri, can at last glance forth again to the feel of weight gone. chipped glossy pink fingers the bow to relieve it.

"wow, thanks so much!" eyes pinch to a grinning as the top is pulled up. "did you make these yourself? that's amazing! the most i got from any guy was stupid store bought candy."

kirigiri thinks knowing in such immediacy that they've been handmade isn't the fondest accolade, but she nods at it all regardless, tucks a braid behind a flush pricked ear. fawning drawn to a meld, the box is closed and free hand beckoning. "wanna come in? i need someone to share all this candy with." beckon, fold in to giggling. "i'm sure naegi will be over later to finish it off."

lips purse to trepidation. a glint draws it stilled, brings her steps forward.

she's sixteen and five months when there's cocoa powder on her nose, and a new tune playing her pulse.


End file.
